Randy sat beside a blanket with assorted objects he hoped to sell. The small business supported him pretty well through his homelessness. He’d been drug-free for five years, but now he wondered if those years eating magic mushrooms was coming back to haunt him.
“It’s simple,” said the child’s high-chair. “We’re aliens. Shape-shifters. Whenever a human touches us, we become whatever thing the person needs most.”
“So what happened?”
“A poor child’s parents couldn’t afford me.”
Randy turned to another alien. “And you?”
“My person had diabetes. Needed regular testing.”
“And what’s your story?” said Randy, turning to the penis pump.
Written for the Friday Fictioneers: https://rochellewisoff.com/2020/09/16/autumn-house-cleaning/